


Beyond The Sky

by Lyre (Lyrecho)



Series: Wings of Rebellion [12]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: (Zeke Is The Damsel. He Is In Distress), Canon Gave Me Nothing So I Gave Myself Rigel, Crisis of Faith, Culture building, Damsels in Distress, F/M, It's Like Lima Beans Story DLC, Lima Beans AU, Lord Tatiana, Lore Building, M/M, Politics, Tatiana's Power Is Heart, Tatinovel, Team Green, Team as Family, The Tatiana Gaiden Campaign
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Lyre
Summary: Tatiana nods solemnly. "I won't let you down," she promises, thinking of her mother walking out of the chapel with a smile on her face; of Zeke pressing a kiss to her forehead before telling her to run.She's tired of being protected, and she's tired of leaving people behind. Luthier is a friend, and Delthea is an innocent, and even if it means staring pain in the face and just bearing it, she's going to save them.As chaos brews in Rigel, Tatiana faces her own trial by fire. Zeke saved her from Nuibaba's clutches, but at the cost of his own freedom - and now, she is hunted, unable to reach the capital for aid, with only one place to flee: the border, and beyond it, Zofia.But the drums of war beat ever louder, and Tatiana knows: if she is going to see her beloved saved, she is going to have to do it herself.|Tumblr||Twitter|
Relationships: Alm & Teeta | Tatiana, Dyute | Delthea & Ryuto | Luthier, Fols | Forsyth/Arianna (OC), Fols | Forsyth/Python, Teeta | Tatiana & Fols | Forsyth, Teeta | Tatiana/Zeke
Series: Wings of Rebellion [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1057355
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue: Between Part And Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a church in the capital.
> 
> Here, Tatiana meets Alm, and discovers grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the first Lima Beans AU update of 2019! 
> 
> This is actually one of the fics I started writing way back when we first started discussing the Lima Beans AU seriously at all. It is something I have chipped away at for well over a year at this point; it has been through multiple - and I do mean _multiple_ \- total rewrites. Even now, I'm not totally happy with it; the ending isn't finished and I _know_ I'm probably going to end up rewriting or adding even more to the 'middle' as we go along - 
> 
> \- but I also know that if I don't start posting this, I never will. And I'm proud of this work. This is something I absolutely want to share with the world, even if it takes me a while to reach the end.
> 
> Please look forward to the rest of Tatinovel <3

The church in the capital was _nothing_ like the church back home.

For Tatiana, the word ‘church’ brought to mind a small building tucked away against seaside cliffs, cozy and crowded; the ceiling low enough in some spots that Father Nikolai bumped his head against it at times, and in winter the chapel roof leaked, no matter how many times they got it fixed.

But in the city, ‘church’ apparently meant high, arching ceilings held up by spiralling pillars and walls made of rainbow stained glass. It was quieter here, too, the men and women lining the pews bowing their heads in silent prayer, rather than the low buzz of background chatter she had been raised amongst and grown used to at home.

It’s strange, she thinks, and different, but maybe not _bad_.

She’s sitting by herself – not on a pew, but on the sparkling marble floor, tucked away in a dark corner of the altar. Her mother had put her down there a while ago, and told her not to move. And, well, Tatiana was a _good girl_, so she listened to her mother, and didn’t move, no matter how much she wanted to. Sitting still and quiet here was _boring_, after all.

She peers around, to try and find her mother – she’d wandered off somewhere after telling her to _stay put_ – and sees no-one but the worshippers amongst the pews. Most are looking down while praying, or have their eyes closed, but one girl sees her peek around the edge of the altar and winks. Tatiana squeaks, and ducks back behind her cover; she didn’t want to get in trouble for being up here, even if the fact that her mother had put her there in the first place meant it was _probably_ okay.

"Tanya," her mother's voice echoes from the doorway that leads to one of the chambers beyond the chapel's grand hall, somehow still quiet enough that it doesn't disturb the silence of the room. "Here," she says, and gestures to her side.

Tatiana is quick to scramble to her feet and run to her mother- she links one hand with hers and twists the other into the folds of her skirt.

Danica looks down at the death grip her daughter has on her twice over, and laughs. "No need to be scared, Tanya," she says. "We're meeting with family today."

Tatiana blinks up at her. "Family?" she asks. She knows her mother has a sister - Aunt Elena - and that she lives in the city, but visiting her before has never been a quiet trip. Aunt Elena is the loud one of the family, after all.

Her mother smiles down at her, and feeling reassured, Tatiana doesn't notice the tension in it.

Walking through the long hallway that leads away from the chapel proper is an experience, and Tatiana can't stop craning her head back to stare up at the delicate curlicues framing the ceiling; the murals of saints and priests and the Holy Father arching above them.

She tugs at her mother's skirt, and point up. "There's nothing like this at home," she says.

"No," Danica says. "Our church is a bit too small for such grandiose decorations."

Tatiana frowns as they keep moving forward. "It looks cool, though."

Danica laughs. "Well, maybe once we hit the warmer seasons you can beg Father Nikolai to let you decorate a bit."

Musing on whether or not Father Nikolai would actually let her paint patterns onto the walls and ceiling or not, Tatiana doesn’t notice they’d reached their destination until they’d actually stopped, and she stumbles a step forward, keeping her balance only because of her hold on her mother.

Danica laughs, and bends down to pick up her grumbling daughter. Tatiana frowns as her hair falls into her face, and pouts as her mother pushes it back.

“This is Tatiana, then?”

Tatiana flinches – she hadn’t noticed that there was anyone else in the room with them, though she hadn’t actually had the chance to really look around it. The voice is deep, and when she peers back over her shoulder, she thinks it suits the large man it came from – he smiles at her when he notices her looking at him, and she quickly looks away.

“This is my little Tanya, yes,” her mother says, and nudges her. “Go on, introduce yourself.”

Tatiana shakes her head, and ducks her head into her mother’s shoulder. She sighs, but doesn’t tell her off, turning her attention to the man.

“Rudolf,” she says. “Why have you called me here? And with such secrecy. People know I’m Elena’s sister.”

The man – Rudolf – sighs. “Elena is dead,” he says, and his voice sounds heavy with grief. Tatiana feels her mother stiffen, her fingers digging into her arm and side, before she relaxes after she whimpers.

“Excuse me?” She whispers. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

Tatiana peers quietly back at the man, and sees him close his eyes. “Here, Danica,” he says, and stands, walking to the back of the room. After a moment of stillness, her mother moves to follow him.

Tucked away, out of sight of the doorway, Tatiana could see a crib, and hears her mother’s breath catch as they look down, to see a small infant laying there asleep, wrapped in fur and cream knit blankets.

“Rudolf,” her mother breathes, voice somewhere between anger and awe. “Is this – ?”

“This is Alm,” Rudolf says. “Albein. Elena – she named him.” He smiles at Tatiana. “He’s your cousin, you know?”

Tatiana blinks, and looks down at the baby with new eyes. Her cousin. He looks cuter, somehow, knowing that.

Above her, her mother's gaze roves over the room frantically, taking in the position of the crib and the closed door once more, as if with new eyes to fit a new context. "Rudolf," she says once more, and her voice is thick with anxiety. "If you're here, then, Elena - ?"

Rudolf looks away, shame crossing his face. "One of the clerics attending the birth," he says. "She was one of the radicals." He reaches down, and gently tugs one of Alm's little baby arms out from where it's tucked into the blanket - a darker patch of skin is clear on his hand, and while it just looks like an odd birthmark to Tatiana's narrowed eyes, her mother gasps. "The moment she saw the mark," Rudolf whispers, "she ran to Jedah."

Danica reaches out, almost blindly, to pull her daughter to her, nails digging tight into her shoulders. "No," she says, in a tone of dawning horror, rather than denial. "No, please, she can't be -"

"They attacked the castle, seeking the Brand Bearer they knew to be born, and while we were eventually able to repel them, when they slunk away to lick their wounds, they took Elena with them." A moment of silence as a shared raw grief floods the room, and Tatiana can only look between the two adults, bewildered, as her mother falls to her knees - still clutching her daughter to her - and cries.


	2. We'll Make Another Promise To Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tatiana isn't prepared for Nuibaba.
> 
> That's okay. Nuibaba isn't prepared for Tatiana, either.

When Nuibaba comes for her, Tatiana isn’t ready at all.

She knows, of course, that the witch has had her eyes on her for years - but as a member of the Duma Faithful, she did, nominally, serve the Crown as they all did. Tatiana might not have Duma’s blood running in her veins, regardless of what whispered rumours spread, but she did have Aunt Elena’s. She was, to Alm, still family. For years, that had afforded her a level of protection - for over a year, since returning home from court and settling back into life as a lowborn cleric, that had afforded her hometown a measure of protection. Nuibaba hadn’t come hunting for their girls since Tatiana had moved back home.

She shouldn’t have let that lull her into a false sense of security. If her time in the Rigellian Imperial Court had taught her anything at all, it was that a knife waited around every corner.

She was never safe. Not ever.

The night life as she knows it ends, she’s filled with dread and terror, but it isn’t about Nuibaba at all. It has next to nothing to do with the witch, and everything to do with her little cousin. With Alm. Alm, missing. Missing in  _ Zofia _ , with the newly crowned Queen he’d been sent to offer his aid to apparently denying she had no knowledge of a Prince of Rigel so much as crossing into their lands.

Tatiana was not a violent person. She wasn’t hateful, either, and she hated to be angry. She’d never truly felt the disdain her countrymen felt for their neighbours, that deep, personal rage. She thought Zofia to be ignorant, not cruel or warmongering. 

Queen Octavia, though… she’d never met the woman, and Duma willing, never would - but she couldn’t deny the cold anger her empty responses to the missives her Lord Uncle had sent made her feel.

“Tanya,” Ezekiel - sweet Zeke, her sole comfort in this time of uneasy terror, with Alm unaccounted for and Berkut and the rest riding off to war, grim faced, if that was what it took to  _ get him back _ , “dear heart, please. You need rest.”

“You’ve been saying that all week,” Tatiana says. “I don’t need rest, I need  _ Alm.” I need to know that he’s okay _ .

She’d known Alm longer than anyone else still alive at this point, bar Uncle Rudolf himself. Peered over the sides of his crib when he was still a baby and sworn to protect him, even if it cost her her life. Cost her  _ everything. _ Alm was why she had lingered so long in court, and was part of why she’d stayed once more, after Ezekiel had washed up on their shores.

Alm was her little brother, and she should be out there  _ looking for him with the rest of them. _

But Uncle Rudolf had said no, and sent Zeke to enforce that ruling.

“Can we just -” She began, only for Zeke to cut her off with a look.

“Move a bit closer to the border, in order to receive any news faster?” He asks dryly. “Or be on hand sooner, should Albein require more medical attention than what the army medics can give him?”

_ Or administer his last rites, should all that is found of him be his broken corpse? _

“I just - I feel useless,” she admits, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes, her throat tight. “Is there really  _ nothing _ I can do? Would I get in the way so much that my Lord Uncle feels it necessary to order me to stay put?”

For a long moment, Zeke stares at her. He stands, and makes his way over to her. His hands rest on her shoulders, warm, strong, and worn, and she feels herself still. Under his gaze, his touch, she stops pacing in circles for the first time in what must be hours.

“His Imperial Majesty simply wants you safe,” he says, soft. “His youngest son may be dead. In order to bring him home, he sends his eldest out, along with his wards, to what very well may be their deaths, too. I do not think he could bear the weight of losing three children, my Tanya.”

Something inside Tatiana tilts leftways, and cracks; splinters like sea glass.

She hasn’t cried since Berkut marched up to her door with the news, and left Zeke behind as he continued on to the border. She hasn’t allowed herself to.

But now, she weeps.

Zeke’s arms hold her up when her legs give way. He pulls her against him, and hums as he runs a hand through her hair. He doesn’t shush her - he’s just there for her as he lets her cry out all the worries that have built up inside of her.

Crying doesn’t make them go away, but once she’s stopped, she does feel a little better. Zeke smiles reassuringly at her, and then leads her to the cushioned chair that sits in the room that serves as entrance and lounge both; she’s never used the chair herself, truthfully - it’s for Uncle Rudolf, on the rare occasions he has the chance to visit. 

“I’ll get you some tea,” he says, and offers her a handkerchief. Sniffling, she takes it from him, and nods.

She’s dabbing at the tears under her eyes when she hears it -

\- the sound of a witch warping into her house.

Immediately, she’s sick with dread, blood churning to ice as the realisation settles. Once upon a time, a younger, more innocent Tatiana would have had no idea what that ever so faint sound signalled, but this Tatiana had grown up amidst the wilds of Rigel’s capital. Witches weren’t common, but they weren’t  _ uncommon _ , either.

And there was only one witch around here that Tatiana knew of. Only one witch at  _ all _ that she could perceive of having any interest in her.

She turns. Nuibaba stands behind her, a smile on her face.

It isn’t a nice smile.

Tatiana has never seen this witch up close, and it’s terrifying how much more human she looks than her bewitched sisters - intelligence shines in her eyes, emotion (amusement) breathes in her face - while still being so utterly inhuman that it just feels  _ wrong _ to stand in her presence. 

Her fingers end in claws, and are longer than they should be. The sharp points of fangs flash in the corner of her smile. Her ears are as pointed as a dragonblooded child, and horns curl up from her head. Her skin, all over, is an ashen bruise.

She’s a heartbreakingly beautiful monster, and Tatiana has never wanted to run from anything more in her entire life.

A laugh, like Nuibaba can hear what she’s thinking.

“Are you scared, dear?” She asks. “There’s no need to be. I’m not here to  _ eat _ you.” Her smile widens, showing her teeth - white, and sharp. “I’ve come with a message from our Lord Duma. Your presence is required.” She snaps her fingers, like Tatiana is a dog to bring to heel. “Come,” she orders.

“Tanya?” Zeke’s voice, echoing back from their little kitchen. “Do we have company -” He steps into the room, tea tray in hand, and falls silent when he sees the witch. His eyes go wide, and he goes very, very still.

He’s unarmed - Tatiana doesn’t like him having his weapons in the house,  _ who do you think is going to attack you here? Me? Put that lance away, silly billy _ \- he has no way to protect himself -

\- “Milady,” he greets, polite if stiff, and ducks into a shallow bow. “May I ask why you are here?”

“Ah, Sir Ezekiel,” Nuibaba says. “I’ve simply come to deliver the little bird a message from her god.” Her eyes cut across the room, to pin Tatiana down with her gaze. “To receive such a message is an honour,” she calls, pointed. “When Lord Duma calls for you, dear, it does not do to tarry.”

Tatiana swallows, her throat tight and dry. It’s true that, nominally, Nuibaba serves Lord Duma, as all the Faithful must - but, known and whispered about in the shadows of the capital, is the name of Nuibaba’s true patron: Medusa.

If Duma had true need of her - of  _ Tatiana _ , of all people - she can’t imagine she’d use  _ Nuibaba _ as a messenger, not when she was kin to his own blood. But -

But - 

_ Zeke. _

Her eyes meet her love’s across the room, and she knows he is ready to die for her, here. 

_ She can’t let that happen! _

She moves through her fear, stiff and awkward, and stands. Zeke makes a sound, low and wounded, that strikes straight for her heart, and Nuibaba -

\- Nuibaba smiles.

“Good girl,” she croons. “Come here, now.”

Tatiana can feel herself shaking, but as if from a distance. Her robes cling to her, damp with the sweat that’s broken out all over her body. Stumbling, she reaches out to the mantle to steady herself, and barely catches herself in time to keep from falling into the coals.

Behind her, Nuibaba makes a derisive  _ tch _ sound. Tatiana can almost feel the witch roll her eyes, the same way she can feel Zeke’s gaze fixed on her, burning through her, as he tries to think up a plan, an idea; find that one, singular way out - for her, at least, if not the both of them.

She needs to leave, before his frantic thoughts become pure desperation, and he acts out recklessly. It doesn’t matter what happens to her, now.  _ Zeke needs to be safe. _

She makes to push away from her fireplace, and that’s when her fingers brush up against it - ceramic and warm; her mother’s urn.

An idea sparks in her mind, like divine providence. Hope sparks in her heart.

Her mother died in Duma’s name and Rigel’s service, but Tatiana knows why she marched out, that night where she never came back. For Aunt Elena. For family.

She never left Tatiana, not really. And she would never leave her unprotected.

Standing over her hearth, her mother in her hands, Tatiana closes her eyes for just a second, and whispers out a soft prayer.

_ Duma is with me, _ she tells herself.

And then she whirls, at throws her mother’s urn at Nuibaba’s face before the witch has so much as a  _ chance _ to react.

It shatters on impact, shards of deep earth cutting into her face, and her mother’s ashes in her eyes, her mouth; choking her, blinding her. Nuibaba shrieks with rage, and Tatiana’s heart is racing like a hummingbird’s.

She rushes past the witch, to Zeke, to grab onto his arms.

“We need to run,” she says, and tugs on him. “We need to - ”

“Tatiana,” Zeke interjects, deep and slow and that consoling kind of gentle that Tatiana  _ hates, _ “ _ you _ need to run.”

The splintered ground beneath her trembles, but she refuses to fall through it into hysteria. “No,” she says, firm, crying, knowing they don’t have the time to be arguing but unable to leave him behind, “we need to leave - together - ”

“I’ll hold her off for as long as I can.” Zeke pulls her to the front of their little house, continuing on like she’d never spoken. His lance is leaning up against a wall in the entrance, and he takes it into his hands. His eyes are dark and mournful when he takes her in, like he’s trying desperately to memorise every last feature of her face, just in case. “You must run, Tatiana. Something isn’t right here - don’t go to the capital. Head for the border, to Berkut - ” He cuts himself off. “We don’t have time for this.” He pulls her in, and presses a sweet kiss to her forehead, and Tatiana can’t breathe through her panicked tears. “Go,” he whispers, “please.”

Tatiana swallows. “I love you,” she says, and pulls away from him reluctantly. It feels like she’s tearing out half her heart to leave it behind, bleeding out on her cottage floor. She pushes past him to step outside.

He closes the door behind her. She hears it lock.

She inhales once, shaky, and takes a step forward into the deceptively peaceful night.

_ The chapel, _ she thinks.

She runs.

And walks straight into the aftermath of a slaughter.

It takes a moment for it all to sink in - the sights, the scents. When it does, Tatiana wants to scream, but her throat closes up around the bile that wells up. She gags, and retches, and falls to her knees at the entrance of the church she was raised in.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring in mute horror at her  _ family _ scattered about the place; bloody and bruised and broken and too many eyes open but unseeing, glassed over by -

by

by

“There you are, kitten.”

The voice is a croon, low and taunting, and Tatiana’s stuttering thoughts stutter to a  _ stop. _ She feels cold and hollow and scared, and  _ is Zeke dead, too? _

Nuibaba’s glare is like ice, and still the amusement never leaves her face. Tatiana isn’t fooled, though. Rage clings to the witch, just like her mother’s ashes still dust her cheeks. “You shouldn’t have run,” she says, and Tatiana shuffles away from those teeth on instinct.  _ Don’t think about the blood soaking your robes. Don’t think about the bodies on the floor. Don’t think - _

She’s forced to a stop, as she retreats right into a still warm figure. Nausea swells and tears burn, and then the body she’s slid into twitches. Coughs.

Tatiana goes still. Eyes wide, disbelieving, she risks a glance behind her.

_ Ana. _ One of the newer Sisters, taking shelter here after she fled from the Capital.

_ She’s alive. _

Alive, and she went down fighting. Her hands, mangled, cling tight to her staff.

A thought flickers to life, in the back of Tatiana’s mind, and she stares at Nuibaba, and thinks,  _ I have nothing to lose. _ She reaches down, and takes up Ana’s staff in her own hands.

Her grip clenches tight around the staff she holds - unfamiliar steel in her hands, a piece of home in her eyes. Sister Ana's, and it was still warm where she had last gripped it tight. 

She whispers a quiet prayer for her wounded sister in the back of her mind, and glares her defiance up at Nuibaba.

The witch smirks, as if amused. "Come on, little kitten," she says. "It's your job to aid the War Father, is it not? Well. His cause requires you. Come, now."

_ Seraphim _ , Tatiana thinks. Seraphim was the only combative spell she knew that had the slightest chance of doing damage to the witch before her - Nosferatu wouldn't even make her flinch.

But -

But there is movement around her, now that she’s paying attention through the horror that had clouded her mind. Not all of the clergy were dead. She has just enough left in her for one spell; Fortify, or Seraphim?

Healing and harming were two sides of the same coin, a double edged blade all clerics learned how to wield before they were allowed anywhere near patients. Tatiana had earned her Sainthood through fire and blood, and that blade in her hands was reforged obsidian, an unbreakable shard of dragon glass.

"He wasn't always the War Father," she says, and even though her voice shakes, she doesn’t look away from Nuibaba's eyes. "He was the Father of the Hearth, long before your faction twisted his teachings, and while the Duma  _ you  _ follow may scream for blood,  _ my Duma protects." _

And then she slams Ana's staff into the ground.


End file.
